[[Template core/front/profile/profileHeader is throwing an error. This theme may be out of date. Run the support tool in the AdminCP to restore the default theme.]]

Community Reputation

10 Good

About Videlle

  • Rank
    Senior Member
  • Birthday 05/03/1991

Personal Information

  • AIM
  • Yahoo
  • MSN
  1. <p>WHY DID YOU LEAVE US?</p>

  2. <p>omgz <img src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/ohmy.png" alt=":o" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/ohmy@2x.png 2x" width="20" height="20" /></p>

    <p>*pounceglomps* :3 Viddy!!!</p>

  3. <p>D: I luv sea turtleszz</p>

  4. As a response to a few questions to me, I am not deleting history from the Eclipse. I simply have not had the time to finish the revised background history for Videlle. Don't worry, you're not being left out of the history! It may just turn into a story itself. Nice job on the summarization of the first introduction to Eclipse, btw, Xara!
  5. I wouldn't mind it being published as a novel, if it can work out. Elek and I were going to try to continue until WOTLK and Jazz could continue it, but I guess that backfired. I suppose that section can be erased. Plus, I am sorry I haven't been on lately; I'm just waiting for WOTLK and hopefully be involved in another storyline (hopefully!). Edit: Some things didn't exactly work out after the storyline as expected, but that's alright.
  6. Yay! Okay, so I haven't been here for a while. Concentrating on my last year of highschool and trying to get that ACT score I need. Just registered for it so I'll be ready for next month. ^-^ Totally enjoying my class at my tech center. I do have new pictures (although they are like micro-size. I apologize for that.) Anyways, I have my glasses now! Hopefully they look nice. Been told they were. Oh, and one of them, I was cross-eyed unintentionally. I'll have some other things I've worked on too.
  7. <p>SEA TURTLES!</p>

  8. I could not confront him the day previous. My eyes began to burn. No, not with tears. That kind of liquid drained away, and allowed this new feeling to leak into my irises. I felt so very atrocious_ __ My heart began to swell. My emotions went soaring, bouncing from the walls. Still, I refused to open my mouth once_ _ To my surprise, it felt like something failed within me. I know not, though. Perhaps I could see to a surgeon, but what good would that do? Maybe, just maybe, it is just all in my head, like everything else__ _ I drank away the bottle of melon juice as if I were dehydrated. A woman butted in, commenting on the battle regalia I wore. To me, it was more of another side effect of mutation. She also attempted to speak to him, too, but he seemed the least bit interested. I could only fill this page with so many ideas as to why she would try speaking in the first place__ _ Ignorance is bliss to those that achieve straying from trouble__ _
  9. It has certainly been a while since I have written in you, little book. So much to tell you that has gone on recently. How I feel is a completely story, though. I am glad to have you by my side, for I fear I cannot tell this to another any time soon__ _ What I thought was going to open up to a happy ending_ _ _ __ _did not. The Cartel fell. I had an inkling it would, but not like this. Three of them, leaving at the same time__ It devestated Seluvia__ _ It devestated me, when I returned, little book. Oh, such sweet sorrow comes only after you realize what has been lost to you, does it not? I returned from a 'sleep'__ _ I needed to recuperate_ __ I did__ _ ___only to come back and find that all that I have built up is lost__ _ It seems Risticus, too, has moved on to another_ _ A shame, really__ _ ___how I couldn't keep touch__ _ _ _how I couldn't atleast have one last embrace, before Time tore it apart_ _ Tell me, little book, should I keep striving? If so, for what? I have almost tallied a new score for Death to drive into Its home. I will soon reach the point that I have slain twenty-thousand people. Both innocent and brave soldiers to the world, just serving under means of their faction__ _ The battlefields become another home to me, endlessly day and night. Oh, so much for relaxation. I feel the agony brimming inside me. Soon their agony becomes mine__ _ Except. . .I have lost the thrill of the Hunt. It becomes a game of who survives the final blows as we clash into one another to the point we ourselves break by our own wrong moves and motives_ __ Now that the Cartel has fallen, I feel amiss. I find myself often staring aloof. Lost, but I do not back down from endless bloodshed. Is this what I want myself to be? A weaponry for massacre. Is remorse even a word known anymore, to me? (There is a line drawn cleanly across the page where the pen is dragged. Perhaps she moved on to another subject.) ______________________________ I have met the stepchild of Carmensita. I have never known the woman much myself, but we exchanged a conversation or two in the Past while within the Cartel. Her name is Nocohmis. She has high spirits, an expanded mind just open for curiosity, and blooms with life any chance something has cheered her up. She takes the place of Carmensita as a barmaid now, I believe. Shadowspeak speaks to me a few in greeting. A pity that we did not carry out his request, but, what could be done? She did not know of who I am until we fell upon the subject of Zorael, her would-be husband. She has quite a few things to learn of, and I feel she is just beginning to unfold herself to me. Chum spoke with me today as well, just before I talked to Nocohmis. I do not know yet, but I believe he has some interest in bringing me under the wing of the Pale Heart. Well, why not? I have no where else to go, no other housing to sit under. Oh no. Those days are gone. Maybe only temporary, maybe forever_ _ The Ball they held was less than desired for me. I feel sickness growing in me. My eyes have changed, once again. Another mutation, yet much more subtle. I am sickly. This becomes nothing new to me, because it only grows much worse as the days and evenings pass on_ _ I did meet a woman there, though, by the name of Tivian. She explains herself as a cousin of someone that I know of, and crumpled a letter into my hand before she left. I will have to read it later_ _ __Other than that, I met an Orc that tells me to call himself Wolfe, so I will call him that, and he moved on rather quickly. I believe from my negativity, or perhaps me just straying from the physical world_ _ Nothing else happened this Eve. Nocohmis had to take her leave to search for her father. I was left for myself the rest of the night. Perhaps tomorrow will hold something new. Good night, little book. I will write in you tomorrow. I will probably have more news and an update of my oncoming weariness then, just as well as my experiences with the new acquaintences_ _
  10. ((Updated description. Still have to work on the History.))
  11. OOC: Hokay folks, I'm going to be on vacation from today-Saturday, possibly Sunday if we stay extra. I'll miss everyone! I will not entirely be in contact, so everything may have to be paused for the Eclipse until I return. That or Elek can take the reign for a while, but I doubt he'll enjoy all of that ;P ! Anyways, I hope everyone will have a fun time with this soon as I return because I'll be ready to do in-game RP. Much love, keep up the good work!
  12. Journals and books lay strewn upon a tabletop, fiercly clawed hands carefully turning the pages as the brute of a worgen looked over the myrad of runes and inscriptions. There were countless tomes on the studies of Ur and Arugal, detailing what the two magi had learned about Sef'Adin and Ayame's kind and the processes in which they were able to summon them. A handful of their assumptions were wrong, surely, but regardless, the works provided an insight on how they may progress their plan. Sef'Adin pushed himself up from the chair he had taken to rest upon as a thoughtful expression crossed his wolf-like features, "Arugal had a tome on summoning Elementals. I discarded it earlier thinking it useless, do you know remember where I put it?" Lethal, yet tender claws snipped through matted tresses of crimson, tendrils of it littering the stone cold floors. The pungent atmosphere of the library , albeit not too surprising since Arugal allowed a gargantuan worg to guard the doors to his upper chambers, held a less than pleasant smell of urine, blood, sweat, and mold. The mixture of these malodorous fumes were something the mates were accustoned to already, so it shouldn't have bothered them to extremes. It did force a snort, however, from the albino Chosen. Mildly frustrated from Sef'Adin's constant movements, Ayame rests her palm over his shoulder, forcing him to sit down again so that she could continue to create a chain of his mane. Twisting it and snipping where needed, she locks the bristles into one lengthy braid. A tiny ribbon sits waiting on a shin while the she-worgen rests on her haunches. Like a goddess, the use of telepathy lapped at the male's ears, allowing the heavenly voice to seep inside so she could respond. "We can search underneath the pile in a minute. Just sit yourself while I finish this, would you?" A grumble was heard, slow and with a hint of frustration through the undertones, the large male looked around one last quick moment before settling himself back down again. Several times he tried to turn his head as Ayame worked on the braiding, each time he would find himself forced to look straight ahead again with a rough insistance from her paws. Denied the book for now, he let his mind wander and he spoke the tangents and ideas that came along with them. "We must find a way to make ourselves more permanent here, in soul. Until then, I do not believe we will have access to the power we will need to perform the rituals to bring Mother. Yet, this is dangerous, for us, and for her. You are well familiar with the Legion - we have both killed them for years at home; yet each one we kill, more are sent, and sometimes the same one. Killing them in our world does us no good, as with Mother in the Moonglade, it would only send one back," he said fidgeting a little in his perch. "I do not know what it will be like to sever our binds to our own realm, the link sustains us, it feeds us... but more importantly, we must watch for our lives. From everything this magi has written, along with our observations and the knowledge of this Host about the Legion is correct... then killing a creature on it's own world would be permanent, save magics to revive." "Mmm," responds the She-Worgen. This was concerning. However, the mates knew they could not look to the negative. Instead, bring from the negative and create with it the positive. Thus, she might just have an idea. Where one paw was working towards the bottom of the braid, the other firmly pressures a knot within the brute's shoulderblades, massaging them to relieve uneeded quantities of stress. "We may not have the power now, but I believe I do know where we can gather them. Do you remember anything resembling a bowl made out of bones, with a boiling concoction?" "Lordaeron's fallen? I have seen the pools of blood there, scattered around and preserved. Perhaps this would help," he would muse, turning around to face Ayame, "and what of this bowl?" Though one could not tell save for their own kind, her maw creased into a definate smile. So he -did- remember. Liquid amber falls deep into the abyssal blue. Lifting a scarlet ribbon by hand, she ties the memento by the tail-end of his braid. She purposely left a few bangs by the front, just out of personal preference. Ayame was sure he wouldn't mind. Then, turning to the serious, she answers briefly,"We will need a bowl to fill Lordaeron's pools of blood. We should be wary, though, as it has been said to evoke anguished spirits of vengeance. I doubt, though, even with paranormal ability, that they could match our strengths combined." Sef'Adin nodded a moment though eventually looked away. The worgen spoke, bringing his gaze back to those bight ambers, "I believe Mother requires the blood of those She has touched; this... 'fellowship' of the Trolless'. But, if this blood in that wasteland is enough to invoke the wrath of long dead spirits, perhaps... perhaps we can use it to our advantage. Tell me, Ayame, can you project more than just your voice into the minds of others?" Considering the thought, she has only tried this once, and it left her drained for weeks, but only because it was incomplete and failed to soar far. She was but a pup then, and in her training. Risky, but now that her brain capacity could expand for these certain uses of rituals and magics, she just may be able to pull it off.. "I believe I will be able to, but know this, my dear: I have only tried this once, and I was merely trained this spell once. It will be risky, but with enough energy and blood supplied, I am sure I may be able to ..alter how the spell works, and lure them successfully. We will need a destination, first. Somewhere nearby.." "There are islands to the east of the keep, guarded by our lesser brethren. It is near the anguish of Lordaeron and the cries of the restless dead may aid the ritual. I will gather the blood of their fallen heroes while you prepare the circle we will use to perform our binding," the male said with a sure nod. Raising a paw to caress his mate's cheek, he asked, "is there anything you require, anything that you need?" "I would like to travel with you, to gather the blood. I believe Arugal has a spare bowl." With a reassuring nod, she nudges his nose with her own with a sensitive affection. The next question, she shook her head. "I believe we have everything set in motion. All we will need to do is gather the said blood and spill it over the cities with the taint of the ritual. Though ordinary adventurers will not be able to see it, once I have spread Mother's touch, I am positive that the 'fellowship' of the Trolless will more than likely see it anywhere they walk. I will coax the blood, and instill it with specific emotions. Negativity. Depression, gloom, heartache. From there I should be able to have their mind in control with the use of telepathy.." Sef'Adin's lips curled in thought of the twisted magics and he held his mate and lover delicately within his paws as if she were a rose. "You mean to lure them to us to offer their own blood?" he would ask, a certain bit of sadistic pleasure exciting him from the mere idea. The worgen spoke again, growling his approval, "then we should seek out to start the collection now." With one final embrace, she tenderly nips an ear, tugging it just out of playfulness. "Acceptable."
  13. Perched upon a worn throne, cracked and dusty through years of neglect, the Archmage Arugal looked down at the pair of worgen standing before him in the audience hall. Grey and dark furred beasts like those that came to him today lined the walls, fangs and claws poised in a curious and near threatening reception of the two new arrivals. He looked back and forth between the black and white duo as he rubbed his chin in quiet consideration. "I will admit, that I am strangely curious about the presence of you both. You are not like these others, my children here, my sons," he said, pushing himself up to his feet to descend the stairs and approach his 'guests'. "Tell me then, what interest have you in Shadowfang Keep?" The female mystic stood slightly hunched beside her beloved mate. As they saught to present themselves accordingly to the elder archmagus, she kept her ears and eyes wary of their lesser.."kin." While they possessed the same intimidating stance, features, and knowledge of weapons, they held no greater intelligence than to protect their home and their Father. Nothing that Accalia would praise, surely. Tufted ears recline against her skull. Vibrant amber shoots a piercing gaze from the lesser worgens to their creator. A dim crackle from burning torches produces a shadow along her own visage. Most noticable in the dark by the toned albino fur, she could easily be found. Yet that is where she possesses the wonderful art of deception. Seperating the jawlines, her language bursts with a series of snarls, barks, and communicating growls. These dog-like gestures were translated through telepathy. "We have been seeking shelter in this physical plane. Somewhere that won't be broken into quite so easily. Seeing as you raise a similar generation to our race, we thought it might be best to remain here." Of course, the mystic did not add that they were also seeking knowledge and answers.. Arugal took a step back as he felt the ringing of his ears and the voice of the white worgen sound within his mind. "Telepathy!" he exclaimed, his expression a mixture of shock and intrigue. His eyes turned then to the beasts along the walls and he regarded them with a curious and scrutinizing look.Returning attention to the female, he closed the distance either through a lack of fear of foolish wonder. Either Ayame or Sef'Adin could have killed the magus with but a single swipe, yet knowing this didn't stop him. He looked them both over, judging and inspecting them as if they were an absolute marvel to behold. Similar to his own 'creations', they were certainly and undeniably above the common stock and lot given how trivial they made his 'sons' appear. It was not difficult at all for him to quickly discern their gender, reading into their close proximity and the way the male seemed to closely watch Arugal as he moved around the smaller that they were presumably perhaps even mated. "Astounding!" came his next cry, excitement evident to his tone. "There is so much I want to ask, so much I want to know! Please, please, come! Be my guests for as long as you wish it! I insist!" "So long as you are able to answer our own, Magus, we will answer yours reasonably," came the next unfolding barks of communication. All the while, she gnashed back a grunt. The stab wound from the dagger did not directly affect her as much as it did the poison that coated it. Defiantly, she forced back the agony. She simply awaited the agreement of Sef'Adin. The black-furred brute only nodded, making a low sort of grunt to signify his acceptance. The human looked over to him, then back to the female, assuming her to be the one in charge, "he does not seem to be the talkative one. Can only the females negotiate through telepathy?" Arugal pondered the implications, wondering if there might be a distinct difference between the mental capacity between genders. The male was certainly larger and more muscled than the shorter female, leading him to wonder what limits were held to their thinking and what capacities they were capable of. "Only if they are born into a prodigy of the Shadow's elemental force. This does not mean that only the females are able to access this kind of knowledge. However, like your Sons, the males will fare far better through calculation of strategy, strength, and agile coordination throughout battle. Since their structure is naturally built for this endurance, they are chosen as our warriors. The females maintain a large capacity of tolerance to magical means through elemental forces. If we corrupt it, we can forge it into our own source of dark magics." Unsure if she should continue, a tongue dangles from her gaping maw of incisors, licking at the rubbery lips near the jowls to prevent dryness. Nodding, Arugal commented on his assumptions, "remarkable. I have seen my many children sometimes conjure magics from the shadows. I did not know there was such a difference between the mental faculties of the genders! I wonder, is the society Matriarchal? Is it the females that provide the rule and order? Perhaps you command them through this same telepathy?" Sef'Adin growled and forced the words in speech, "Do not be so quick to presume that my lack of desire to speak to you is any indication of my intelligence." The sound of actual spoken words startled the mage, prompting a bit of a stumble as he returned his look to the male's direction. Glancing back and forth, he tried to put the two together, while shooting another scrutinous look at the other worgen who remained observant in the sidelines. Listening to that cryptic, yet aggressive tone from Sef'Adin, she felt he proved his worth enough to shatter the very thought that one gender had power over the other. Melodic waves of her voice rippled through the reciever's head, enough to lull one to sleep right before they reach their deathbed. "The females do not command our males. We follow under one leader and under one ruler within our home of the Twilight. We call her, 'Mother.' To mortals like yourself, her rightful name is Accalia. A wolven goddess. You are speaking to her Chosen. We are her most trusted." Through that explanation, she said nothing more of their plan. "Fascinating..." he said, eyes alert and attentive. He mulled over the female's every word and made well certain not to again underestimate the male. While he seemed more of a brute than anything else, it was startlingly clear that he was just as capable of thought and understanding as his female counterpart. Arugal put the evening's events into careful thought, pacing back and forth a few moments before it occurred to him so clearly that he wondered why he'd not thought of it before, "ah! You had mentioned a desire for shelter, you two are mates, are you not?" Shifting in place to avoid cramping in the leg and hind feet, the she-worgen stands again poised and just as alert. Beads, pearls, fangs, and vials of blood slid and bumped into one another along the miniscule thread that kept the cloth that hid the privacies as needed. With this sudden movement, the thigh stretches forward, her fair weight causing ripples along the outer fur along her hind, towards the thighs and legs. A tweak in the ears left them perked with interest. The archmage finally got to the point. "Yes."
  14. OOC: Located within Shattrath City, Ayame took to manipulating Videlle's humanoid form once again, with the help of the restock of blood. Sef'Adin successfully went into contact with Arugal by breaking through what little defenses the Keep had. He has summoned Ayame to come to him immediately. Now, he patiently waits. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ An unnamed sorcerer follows Ayame, suspicious. The Videlle he saw within Silvermoon City, before he took his leave, held no acknowledgement that she'd saved his life from a pesky pair of Kal'dorei, one Druidic and the other Roguish. What he did acknowledge, however, was that she was scooping up blood for collection. It wasn't long before he found her again in the holy temple, standing by an unguarded wall that provided seclusion. He had to report his finding to his brother, Rilthan. The encounter will unfold here. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Cautiously avoiding the evening patrollers, the Warlock secludes herself to a wall outside of the terrace of Light. Sef'Adin has given her well enough news. Now, all she needed to do was... Her thoughts were interrupted by the flapping of some airborne beast. A full ocean of emerald pools over smoldering amber. Her facial expression faltered from a joyful expression to a suspicious one. The tip of her ears tweak to a perk. Calmly, she forces thet torso of the warlock to turn, the carapace melded well with her form, only the drapes over her feet made even the slightest budge. Her brows quirk to a confused look at what stood before her. A young Sin'dorei man. This individual did not appear at all familiar to Ayame. That much was clear. Her eyes squinted with a scrutinizing glare. He sported cropped, yet blinding bleach-blonde hairs. Tanned skintone told her that he stayed out in the open far longer than the ordinary assassin. He didn't exactly tower over her smaller frame, but he did seem much bigger and taller than she. Compared to Sef'Adin, however, he was but a delicate flower just screaming to have its beauty ruined. His ears, too, perked, and a suspicious little smirk danced upon his face. "Hello, Videlle," it was some time before he finished with a mocking affection,"...Love." This baffled Ayame. She'd never seen him before. Unless.. Yes, that is it. The Rat. He could see beyond the invisible where as others could not. His eyes possessed that detection, somehow. No matter, she would test his wits, and if he pushed through the barriers, she will have to resort to other means of protection... Clearing her throat, a lowly rumble rises from her throat, and as she forces her plush lips to part, her velvet voice melodically smoothes itself out. "O-oh. Hello there.." Encroaching upon her personal space, he leaps from the windrider, sending it off with a single snap of his fingers. His smile faltered to that visible frown of confusion. Did she not remember? Then his eyes went on an intent search. Something was not right. Especially the atmosphere she let off... "Do you not remember, Videlle? All those times in Winterspring, exchanging stories.." He rubs a finger against his chin, his gaze especially finding the missing spots upon her forehead, "Do you even remember my name?" She responds, "U-uhm, I'm afraid I do not remember everything, Rilthan. Ever since that defeat on Accalia, I've been troubled.." She realizes, then, she had been catching her words a few times through another rumble. Her pupils narrow, the blackness of the Void searing within them. What came next was unexpected. "I see, but that doesn't explain much of anything...." He leapt forward, hands pressing this false identity against the wall. With much aggression, he stealthily plunges a dagger into the woman's thigh, tearing through cloth and breaking through skin. Ruby red stains the blade's flat edge. Audible hisses left her lips, agony profusely weighing down on her senses. Forced, empty-hearted tears welled within her eyes, and she feigns a whimper, stuttering over a word or two with a plea of,"W-why are you hurting me, Rilthan? S-Stop!" Yet he saw through the facade. It was at an end. He would stop here. He gruffly whispers, pressuring for answers,"You are not Videlle. Where have you taken her, and what have you done with her?" He noticed her squirming, and threatened without thought,"I will kill you, should you move from this spot.." Her movements halted, almost obediently, and she stood idle. Her head hung low, the shadows obscuring her face, making it difficult to depict her expression. His right hand reached to grab her by the jawline... Glinting moonlight pierced through the fabricated emerald. She beams a petrifying glare. A suppressed, sinister laughter momentarily shakes her body. Her lips peel back, revealing row upon row of defined fangs. A demonic snarl escapes her throat. Venomous saliva positively drenched the distinct canines. Obsidian poured in with ever-burning amber. The twisted, contorted /thing/ before Rilthan threw him completely off, just as much as the fact she shed no blood other than what the blade penetrated. He made a brave attempt at pulling it back before she could counter-attacked. Too late, she mused. He felt an overwhelming sting swim through his body through the fingers. Corrupted elemental magic explodes from her hands. Electricution followed his very movements. He howled into the atmosphere, interrupting the peaceful evening. He could not handle the force she blew back at him. He fell, but not without a back up plan. A puff of smoke seethes from powder, and suddenly he is gone. A scrap of parchment lies upon the floor he once stood over. With scribbled handwriting, it was difficult to make out, but she could read,"I will find out what you did with Videlle. When I do, I /will/ have a reason to slaughter you on the very spot." Amused by this, she almost mockingly laughs at the petty threat. That didn't live long, though. Marching footsteps were hastily reaching her direction. Shifting wary glances in either direction, she concentrates upon her hands in quick motion, smoke the hue of charcoal rises, the floor below her boiling and bubbling. She sucks in a light breath, whispering to herself a ritual command. Within seconds she is mounted upon a black worg, protected by stolen Horde armaments to disguise it as a war hound. Her thighs rest against the belly of the beast, as her ankles lightly kick with mutual command for it to make haste within the Terrace of the Light. Her back arches, arms resting upon the mane and hands gripping strongly at the armor. Her head turns, analyzing the damage that had been done. A crack on the wall. Altered flooring. Nothing that could give leads on her, however. With bleak satisfaction, she and the beast rode off, leaping through the teleportation opening. It sucked them through without a trace of their presence. Sef'Adin will not be pleased, but with high hopes, her sorcery will create a duplicate image. That's just what she did, too. Speeding through the Undercity with precaution, she and the worg leapt their way up to the outer ring of the Forsaken's base. She had enough time to cast the spell needed to produce a secondary image. An ominous portal hid itself underneath the cold, stone floors. An idle image of her mounted upon the wolf stood in its place. No one had seen it. Good. This bought her time to rush to the Silverpine Forest. Shadowfang Keep was not far.
  15. The morning sprung to life within the Eversong Woods. As the sun rose high above with its mighty bright rays, birds chirped their melody near the albino beast. A gentle breeze gives way to undulations of the shrubs and grasses sprouting from the rich soils. Twisted leaves of violet and golden strawberry rustle atop great stark white trees. Above a rocky hilltop is a woodland opening. Lying within this secluded area of the Eversong Woods is the Mystic She-Worgen. A large tail coils around much of a hulking beast coated in albino fluff. Millions upon millions of bristly, black hair combine into one large, coarse mane, starting from the cranium and streaking along the back. Fore-paws support the resting head, jowls flawlessly smoothed with the breeze. Flashing words of the Twilight slither and coil along the wolf-being's frame. Twin tufted ears rest reclined, tickled merely by the playful fingers of the invisible wind. A tranquil evening has taken its leave. Bathing in the sun has proven fruitful for recuperation. Golden amber is revealed underneath lashes of pure ebon, to which the moonlit orbs mold into focus. Narrowed pupils shift and flicker with slight unease. She was not alone. Had he returned? Her question was answered within minutes. Multiple gleams reflect an object forcefully tossed into the air. Different shades of vermillion and cirmson splash and swirl within descending vials knitted together by tiny threads of rope. A forearm stretches, palm open, stained claws split with an instantaneous shift of the great, bushy tail. Catching the vials of blood, an audible snort is heard from a single nostril. Forcing herself to sit upstraight, her hind legs rub upon one another, talons securely sheathed beneath the paws. A blur is approaching. Its velocity matches that of a bullet from a gun barrel. Dried dirt is thrown, gravel crushed, and a tuft of grass is simply plucked from its roots. Before the Mystic stands her beloved brute of a mate. His torso heaves with breathless pants. Glimmering red levitates temporarily while the short-lived gust of wind created by his agile swiftness dissipates. When gone, it rests over an entirety of gem-embedded gold. A bulky breastplate that provided the protection he needed to avoid defenselessness. Aquatic irises beam with that radiant blue. Such a lovely, and loving, mate, she praised. His jowls shift and shake, jawline strained with effort to speak, a croaking, low-toned voice that rumbles through the voice box and through a maw of razor canines. "Blood gathered from the primary races of the Alliance," with a pause, he breathes out slowly with a catch of his breath,"..and the Horde." Though exhausted, the expression upon his rubbery, black lips, as far as she could tell, was a proud one. The two wolf-beings embraced one another with their affection. It would not be long before they had to part once again. A safe haven was needed. Sef'Adin knew just the location. Shadowfang Keep. Arugal will not be expecting "guests," but he will learn to accept their presence, either by force or by talk..